


Holding on to You

by demiismstoo



Series: service sub!spencer verse [1]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Dom/sub, Domestic, M/M, Service Submission, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 06:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15090596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demiismstoo/pseuds/demiismstoo
Summary: For a Tuesday morning, Spencer is unusually grumpy, he knows he is. It’s not his fault, though! The universe just has it out for him today or something. The alarm hadn’t gone off, and by the time his internal clock woke him up, Brendon was twenty minutes late for his studio time. Okay, so maybe it was a tiny bit his own fault.Maybe.But how could he really be blamed for forgetting to set the alarm before he passed out after Brendon had practically sucked his soul out through his dick?//Or the one where service sub Spencer is all outta sorts and his Dom, Brendon helps put him back in sorts.





	Holding on to You

**Author's Note:**

> this is set in an au where brendon never met sarah. everything else is still canon though. stories in this verse won't be in any particular order, just snippets and such of their lives. 
> 
> i'm sorry if this sucks this is the first fic i've written in bandom that i've ever actually posted.

For a Tuesday morning, Spencer is unusually grumpy, he knows he is. It’s not his fault, though! The universe just has it out for him today or something. The alarm hadn’t gone off, and by the time his internal clock woke him up, Brendon was twenty minutes late for his studio time. Okay, so maybe it was a tiny bit his own fault. _Maybe_. But how could he really be blamed for forgetting to set the alarm before he passed out after Brendon had practically sucked his soul out through his dick? 

Sighing, Spencer picks up a head of broccoli to inspect it. It deems it worthy, so he shoves it into one of the plastic produce bags he had grabbed, spins the bag around, then ties a knot to seal it closed. The broccoli goes into the cart and then he’s moving on down the wall of fresh vegetables. Grocery shopping is usually one of Spencer’s favorite things, but today everything just seems to grate on his nerves and makes his mood sour even more. 

The cart he had grabbed upon entering the store has a bum front left wheel, making the cart pull to the left as he pushes it around the store; and as the cart was weighed down by boxes and packages of food, the wheel starts to make this god awful shrill squeaking sound. By the time it starts up, though, he’s got too much in the cart to go back and switch carts without looking like an idiot. Every rude, entitled soccer mom seems to get on his nerves, too, something he can usually ignore. He sighs. 

Thankfully, he’s almost done with the shopping, always saving produce for second to last. Ice cream is always the last thing he gets so it doesn’t melt too badly before he gets it home. The first time Brendon came with him to do the grocery shopping, he was distressed over thinking Spencer had forgotten to get the ice cream, but when he explained his process, Brendon had looked at him like he was the smartest person on the planet. Spencer still laughs about that memory. 

//

When he gets home, Spencer puts away the groceries, and then takes Bogart out for a walk. The trip around the neighborhood helps to clear Spencer’s head a little bit. The stay-at-home dad who lives across the street is out in his driveway on a ladder, fixing a light and he waves when he spots Spencer. Spencer waves back as Bogart tugs him along. The neighborhood Brendon had chosen was nice. Sort of secluded, mostly filled with retired doctors and lawyers, and their spouses, who didn’t give two shits about who Brendon Urie from Panic! At the Disco was. The Parson’s across the street had two kids, but they were too young to know about popular bands to care, either. 

When they reach the end of the street, Mrs. Lewis glares at him from where she’s tending to her roses. Bogart had done his business on her lawn when Brendon first moved in. Brendon had, of course, picked it up and apologized, but Mrs. Lewis still held a grudge, apparently because she glared at either of them, or both, when they walked by. Spencer would usually smile and offer up a cheerful “Hello!” as he passed, but he was still in a sour mood, so he glared right back and kept walking. 

//

Brendon had told Spencer that morning that he’d be done in the studio by three, home by four if traffic wasn’t too bad. Spencer decided that an early dinner out on the patio would be a nice way to treat Brendon for all of his hard work on the new album lately. Plus he still feels really guilty about the alarm thing that morning. 

The steaks he got at the grocery store earlier are marinating and Spencer is putting the finishing touches on his famous pasta salad when he hears the front door open, followed closely by Bogart’s nails clicking on the hardwood as he runs for the door. That’s followed by a laugh from Brendon and “Hi Boggie! Hi boy, c’mon let’s go find your other daddy.” Bogart yips and then comes running into the kitchen and jumping at the backs of Spencer’s legs. 

Spencer grins and turns his upper body around to stare down at the Jack Russell. “Is your daddy home, huh?” He asks, laughing as Brendon appears around the corner from the entry hall into the kitchen. “Hi.” Knowing Brendon is home, seeing Brendon, makes some of the tension that he’s been carrying all day lessen. 

Brendon grins at Spencer and replies with a soft “Hi.” It’s dumb that after all these years as bandmates- turned very close friends-turned best friends-turned boyfriends that they still get all shy and coy when they see each other after a long day apart. Spencer can’t really find it in himself to care, though. 

“How was the studio?” He asks, grabbing a beer from the fridge, popping the top off the bottle with a magnetic opener he pulls from the fridge door. He hands the bottle to Brendon, who accepts it with a thankful smile and a kiss to Spencer’s cheek as he passes by to go sit on a stool at the island. 

“It was good.” Brendon nods, taking a swig of his beer. “Kenny thinks we’ll be done with the songs we’ve been working on by the end of the week.” He rolls his eyes, as if to say he thinks Kenny’s time estimate is total bullshit. From what Spencer knows of Kenny, it’s probably true. Brendon continues, “It’s like he’s completely forgetting that we still have to _edit_ them when we’re done recording.” 

Spencer snorts and turns back to grab the steaks from the fridge to let them sit out for a bit before he throws them on the grill. He doesn’t know why he’s supposed to do that, but all the TV chefs do on Food Network, and if Bobby Flay says to do something for a better result, well, Spencer’s going to do it. 

Brendon raises an eyebrow at the steaks and asks “Special occasion?” Spencer shrugs, some of the tension returning, and busies himself with making a Caesar salad. “Hey,” Spencer hears Brendon slide off the stool and move closer, so he doesn’t jump when he feels arms snake around his middle and hug him close to Brendon’s front. “What’s up? You know you can talk to me.” 

Spencer nods, but knows that Brendon will want a verbal answer. “Yeah-yes. I know.” He takes a breath. “It’s no big deal, I just wanted to make you a nice dinner to celebrate all your hard work on this new album.” He shrugs one shoulder. 

“Aww, Spence, are you suddenly _shy_?” Brendon teases, still suspecting something is wrong, but he knows Spencer will tell him, or at least alert him to not being one-hundred percent okay, when he’s ready. Spencer huffs, embarrassed with himself. Brendon moves to stand next to Spencer, leaning on his arm on the counter to get a better look at Spencer’s face. “No, hey. It’s cute. And thank you, sweetheart, I love the idea of you wanting to make me a nice dinner.” 

The pet name makes Spencer’s stomach feel like he’s got gymnasts doing every flip they know how to in there. “Anything for you, Sir.” He says, meaning every word more than he’s ever meant anything, ever. Brendon knows this and smiles lovingly at his submissive. 

“I’m going to go throw a ball for Bogart in the back while you finish dinner, okay?” He waits for Spencer to answer in the affirmative before he pushes off the counter, leans over to press a soft kiss to Spencer’s temple, and then he’s grabbing his half drunk beer from the counter as he passes, heading for the sliding glass door, calling for Bogart. 

Spencer cuts up the squash and zucchini he had gotten to grill with their steaks, and then starts to rinse off the cutting board and knife before setting them aside to wash properly after dinner. It’s nearing five now, so he heads outback to start the grill, and grins when he sees Brendon rolling around in the grass with Bogart. 

“Dinner?” Brendon asks, spotting him. 

Spencer shakes his head. “Not yet, but soon.” 

Brendon nods and goes back to playing with his dog. Spencer gets the steaks on the grill, and soon enough the delicious scent of grilled meat is wafting through the backyard on the soft breeze coming in off the ocean. He adds the vegetables to the grill during the last half of the steak’s cook time and then goes about setting the table they have on the patio. Brendon comes over five minutes before the food’s ready, asking if there’s anything he can do to help. Spencer secretly thinks Brendon has some sort of super power of always knowing when food will be ready in five minutes, he always comes wandering in, or over, when there’s five minutes to spare. Always, without fail. 

He has Brendon take the bowls of pasta and Caesar salads out to the table while he pulls everything off the grill. They sit down and Bogart is immediately at Brendon’s feet, begging. “You know he only does that because you started feeding him from the table as a puppy.” Spencer reminds him. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Brendon rolls his eyes, but sneaks Bogart a piece of steak as soon as Spencer isn’t looking, knowing that the other hates it when he does. They eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Brendon starts telling Spencer all about his day at the studio. Spencer likes to hear about the squabbles between Dallon and Dan about the tempo and bass lines of songs. 

After he left the band, it had hurt to hear about Brendon’s stupid or funny band stories at first, feeling like he had been replaced. Brendon had stopped talking about band stuff all together after he found out how Spencer was feeling (which meant a spanking until Spencer was relaxed and calm enough to tell Brendon what was bothering him). That hadn’t sat right with Spencer, though, knowing how much Brendon loved talking about band stuff, even if it was his dumb ideas for hooks in songs that he’d never use. So they had compromised - Brendon could talk about it and if at any time Spencer started to feel uncomfortable he was to tell Brendon and then they’d rework things as they needed. 

But Brendon had assured Spencer that no one could ever replace him, which was why he didn’t want to ask anyone to be permanent members of the band. It had felt too much like a betrayal to Spencer every time he even thought about it, he had confessed. With that new understanding, it was a lot easier to hear Brendon talk about band stuff. Spencer could pretend that Brendon had just joined a different band, and that Panic was still the Panic he knew. 

After he was done with that day’s stories, Brendon asked Spencer about his day and Spencer tensed. “Spence?” Of course Brendon had noticed. “It was okay. Did the laundry, then I went to the grocery store, took Bogart for his walk. Cleaned our bathroom, caught up on Beat Bobby Flay and Iron Chef America, and then you got home as I was prepping dinner. That was pretty much my day.” He shrugs, though his shoulder doesn’t come up far with how high they already are, being so tense. 

Brendon sets down his fork and softly says “Hey,” Spencer looks up. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Spencer doesn’t answer this time. “Do I need to go all Dom on you, or are you going to willingly tell me what’s bothering you?” He teases, but it just makes Spencer visibly more tense. 

Brendon’s chair scrapes along the cement of the patio as he pushes back from the table and stands to move around to Spencer’s side. “Hey, it’s okay.” He squats down next to Spencer. “You know I’ll do whatever you need me to do, sweetheart. That’s what I’m here for.” Spencer’s hands are gripping his fork and knife so hard his knuckles are white. Brendon frowns and reaches up to wrap his hands around Spencer’s. “C’mon, loosen your grip for me, you’ll hurt yourself.” He keeps his voice soft and gentle, just coaxing Spencer to do what he’s asked instead of ordering him to. 

“Can you look at me, please?” Spencer turns his head. “Good. Good boy.” 

Spencer’s stomach starts up with the gymnastics again at the praise. He doesn’t know why he’s acting so weird or why he’s still so tense. Well, he suspects it’s still from that morning with the alarm clock, but Spencer’s never held onto something that like, especially after Brendon assures him that it’s okay and that he’s not upset. Which he had that morning after Spencer kept apologizing. 

“We’re going to finish dinner,” Brendon is saying, so Spencer focuses back on him and listens. “Because you worked really hard on this and I want to enjoy it.” He smiles and the corner of Spencer’s mouth quirks up in an effort to mirror Brendon’s expression. “Then, you’re going to clean up and meet me in the living room. Understood?” 

Spencer nods. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” 

//

Spencer does as he was told, he finishes most of his dinner despite the knots that were suddenly twisting around in his gut. Then, he clears the table and does the dishes after putting the leftovers away. The easy repetition of loading the dishwasher helps to relax Spencer some. This is what he’s good at, this is what he can do for Brendon. 

He starts the dishwasher and then shuffles towards the living room. Spencer notices a lack of Bogart laying next to Brendon’s thigh on the couch, where he usually is after dinner while Brendon plays video games. Now, though, the TV’s on, but it’s on some sitcom rerun, the volume turned down low and Brendon is sitting in the arm chair. 

“C’mere, Spence. On your knees.” It’s then that Spencer notices the throw pillow placed neatly next to Brendon’s feet on the floor. He swallows and pads over, dropping to his knees on the pillow. “Good boy. I want you to rest your head on my knee, and take deep steadying breaths. Can you do that for me?” 

Spencer doesn’t bother answering, just drops forward until his cheek is smushed against Brendon’s jean clad thigh. Brendon’s hand comes down to run his fingers through Spencer’s shaggy hair - he really should go get it cut - and Spencer focuses on breathing. His eyes slip closed and he floats for awhile, Brendon’s fingers in his hair, luling him into an almost meditative state. His brain always seems to shut up for awhile, while he’s like this, too, which is such a relief for Spencer. 

He has no idea how long he’s kneeling there, floating somewhere between consciousness and sleep, but Brendon’s voice starts to pull him back. “Spencer, c’mon sweetheart, come back to me.” Spencer blinks his eyes open and is thankful that the lights are dim, and then looks up at his Dom without lifting his head from Brendon’s thigh. 

“Are you feeling better?” Brendon asks. 

“Ye-Yes, Sir.” Spencer’s voice is rough from lack of use, and shit how long has he been down here? 

Brendon nods his approval and then he’s reaching for the remote to turn the TV off. “Have you figured out what’s bothering you? Or is it just one of those days where you’re stuck in your brain again?” 

Spencer is so grateful that Brendon understands him so well. “Um, I think it’s a combination of both?” He sits back then, hands resting palms down on his thighs, head down. “I was feeling - am still feeling - guilty about the alarm this morning,” He admits. “And I just kept thinking about it and stressing myself out about it instead of letting it go like I’m supposed to when you tell me that you’re not mad or upset about something.” 

There’s a stretch of silence after his confession, and Spencer bites his lip nervously, chancing a glace up at Brendon. The other man is staring down at Spencer, his expression unreadable. “Sir?” He asks, his stomach starting to roll with anxiety. He shifts on his knees, uncomfortable.

“We’re going to have to work on your anxiety some more.” Is all Brendon says before he’s standing and heading for their bedroom. Spencer doesn’t immediately follow, not having been told he could. “C’mon.” Brendon finally says and Spencer scrambles up off the floor and hurries after Brendon. 

//

Five minutes later, Spencer has been stripped down to his boxer briefs and is laying across Brendon’s lap in the center of their bed. They had realized quickly, during the beginning stages of their relationship, that this was the best way for Spencer to lay over Brendon’s lap without sliding off, or tipping head first onto the floor. Sometimes Spencer hated that he wasn’t physically smaller than his Dom. 

“I’m thinking a spanking, with just my hand, is what you need to let go of this guilt and tension,” Brendon brings his hand down to rest on the round curve of Spencer’s cloth covered ass, rubbing in slow circles. “Do you agree?” He hums. 

“Yessir,” Spencer’s voice is muffled from where he’s got his face pressed into the soft fabric of their duvet. He turns his head to the side, looking back at Brendon. “Yes, Sir.” He repeats. 

“Good, you’ll be getting forty-five. Please count, we’ll begin now.” Brendon lifts his hand and brings it down hard across his right cheek. 

Spencer hisses at the sudden sting and then wiggle to adjust himself and make himself more comfortable. He presses his face back into the blanket, muffling the “One.” that comes out of his mouth. 

Spencer lets himself drift, losing himself in the pain of the spanks, the counting, and the way all his guilt over the alarm, and the tension he’s been carrying all day seems to seep out of his body through the heat radiating off his reddened ass. By the time the last spank comes down on his ass and he’s muttering out a “Forty-five,” his whole body feels like jello. 

He’s hauled up into Brendon’s arms, his ass nestled in the hole made by Brendon’s legs in the criss-cross applesauce position. Spencer clings, his hands balled into fists in Brendon’s shirt. He loves this part - the cuddles and kisses he always gets after a session with his Dom - and he’s not going to waste a second of it. 

“You were so good for me, Spence,” Brendon begins to ramble, the way he always does during aftercare. Usually it’s just some variation of how good Spencer is and how proud of him Brendon is, but it still makes Spencer’s heart flutter in his chest. “Such a good boy for me, you took that spanking so well. So proud of you.” 

Spencer nuzzles closer, his beard clad cheek rubbing against the soft fabric of Brendon’s t-shirt. For the first time all day, Spencer finally feels like he can _breathe_ , and he starts to drift off to sleep. Brendon chuckles, and Spencer feels the rumble in his chest more than he hears it, and then he’s being laid down, the covers being pulled down under him, and then brought back over him. The last thing he hears is Brendon whispering, “Love you, Spence. G’night.” leaning down to press a kiss to Spencer’s temple.


End file.
